


Pages Stuck Together

by tjmystic



Series: Birthday Fics [19]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-19
Updated: 2013-03-19
Packaged: 2017-12-05 19:08:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/726893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tjmystic/pseuds/tjmystic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Storybrooke AU - Woobie!Rumple is hurt, Belle sees to his wounds</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pages Stuck Together

Pages Stuck Together  
Birthday Fic #19

Rating: NC-17, but it’s a cute NC-17 C:

somethingstately prompted: submissive!Gold; temporalteatime prompted: Woobie!Gold (poorer man in town, not rich like usual), works at the library and the pawnshop under the supervision of Belle French. Smutty please!; anon prompted: she’s been crushing on him since she was 16

Author’s Note: CHECK IT OUT!!!! I finally finished all my birthday fics! Exactly one month after my 19th, too – I’m good :D *ahem* Anyway, I’ll let you get on with reading it. Besides, I must go finish the sequel to “Safe Words”, after all (haha, tricked you all into thinking that that’s what I was posting! Well, all of you but impandlionheart - I owe you a prize, dearest) ;)

Oh, and this was obviously written before we found out that Belle’s SB name was Lacey, so sorry for that inconsistency. And I’m also sorry that this one’s a little bit rushed. Unlike most of my fics, I felt like being an exposition fairy here so I could get to the smut faster. Hopefully nobody minds too much, lol.

 

“Miss French? Miss French, are you in?”

Maribel raised her head with a smile. “Past the atlases, Mr. Gold.”

The steady tap of the man’s cane echoed through her library, bouncing off her leather-bound covers in a staccato that made her heart pound. It was an odd kink, she supposed, being attracted to the much older man’s walking stick, but, then, she was an odd girl. Her medical records were testament enough to that.

From age eleven to age sixteen, she’d known nothing but padded walls, polished floors, and orderlies with armfuls of pills and needles and restraints. Her incarceration might not have lasted that long if her doctors had acted more like the therapists on TV, those men with bald heads and big glasses who said, “This is a normal part of life, a lot of people have what you have. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.” But then, nobody really knew what it was that she had, so maybe that was why she was treated more like a rabid animal than a human being. 

She didn’t like to relive that time. Not that her nightmares ever gave her a break. 

When she’d finally gotten out, she filed for legal emancipation and left her “father” (he didn’t deserve the title “dad” anymore) and his sorry ass behind. She’d always loved books (even though she was only allowed flimsy paperbacks in the asylum – she might hurt herself with something harder, after all), so the library seemed like the best place for a new start. She had some family money (inherited directly to her, not Moe), more than enough to buy the place out even at her young age. It even came with a little apartment that rested right below the clock tower. And, though she wasn’t one to brag, she was more than intelligent enough to run the logistics of a library all by herself.

The only problem there was that no one actually wanted to rent books from a hardened psychopath. It didn’t matter that she looked about as dangerous as chipmunk; her records were apparently more honest than her face. Eventually, she fixed the latter to suit the former – short leather skirts replaced paisley dresses, red lipstick replaced peachy blush, long talons replaced French tips, and violent heels replaced innocent flats. If they wanted a criminal, it was a criminal they’d get.

Only one person, one man, deigned to talk to her in those early days. Mr. Gold. It didn’t seem to matter that he was in his forties and she was barely sixteen, the shy pawnbroker was the one person who ever gave her the time of day. He’d sit beside her at Granny’s when everyone else gave her a three-table-wide berth, bring her little trinkets on her birthdays when no one else remembered, and visit for hours on end at the library under the guise of “looking for that pesky book I can never remember the name of”.

She’d felt honored, of course. The tiny part of her that still behaved like a teenager swelled with pride that such a mature, charming man would take time out of his day to talk with her. And it made the large part of herself that she hid from everyone else, the part that still felt sympathy, ache when she realized he was just as much an outcast as she was. At least people had a reason to disdain her, though – for all they knew, she could snap and turn into Carrie in an instant; Mr. Gold, on the other hand, was a casualty of war whom everyone labeled a coward. Maribel still hadn’t figured out why that was, and she was too fond of the man to ask him to relive it. Especially when she saw how the others’ hatred made him cold, turn in on himself like he just wanted to die. It pained her that she could so easily hide her own despair when he could not. Imprisonment had made her strong; war had made him weak.

But then, sometimes Maribel thought it was entirely the other way around.

“Ah, there you are,” a calm voice echoed down the aisle. “Ironically, I lost my way to the atlases section.”

Maribel chuckled. “Only you, Mr. Gold.” 

“Please, ma’am, you know you can call me Rum,” he said with a small smile. 

“Rum, then,” she allowed. 

Maribel didn’t know if he was onto her game or not, but, every conversation, she refused to call him “Rum” until he gave her permission. It made her shiver inside that she was the only one allowed to call him by such a special nickname (she’d decided on it because rum-raisin was his favorite ice-cream, and, of course, his real first name was horrid). 

“Well, what have you got for me today, Rum?”

“I found some books in the pawn shop that I thought you might be interested in.”

He placed the half-dozen heavy tomes on the nearest bookshelf. Not for the first time, Maribel’s thoughts ran towards wonderment at how strong his arms must be, how toned they’d look under his button-down shirts.

She shook the book dust off her dress and stood up. She was lucky that transferring her excitement at the thought of his body to the joy of new books wasn’t that difficult.

“Ooooh, what sort of books?” she half-squealed, hopping over to him. 

She expected him to laugh at her antics, to vividly explain each volume of the haul he’d brought in as if they were precious jewels. Instead, he turned his face to the shadows and pushed the books in his arms awkwardly in her direction. He was still smiling, but it was now strained.

“Thank you,” she murmured in confusion, graciously taking the novels from his arms. She put them on the empty shelf beside him in hopes of seeing the rest of his face, but he twisted away even more. Maribel’s fingers twitched – did he not want to look at her? Did he not care for her anymore?

“Rum, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, dearie,” he muttered. She bristled – he only called her “dearie” when something bad had happened. 

“No, you’re hiding something. Now, what’s wrong?”

“I told you, ma’am, it’s nothing. I… I’d best get back to the shop. I need to –”

His cane caught on the edge of a bookshelf, sending him sprawling to the floor. Maribel rushed forward to help him up, not caring for the way he shivered in her grip. Especially when it was taking every ounce of her willpower not to shake in turn when his hands briefly brushed the small of her back. 

“Rum, are you okay?” she asked, putting her hand on his cheek. He hissed and flinched away at the contact, forcing Maribel to feel something sharp against her fingers. She pulled his face closer, pinching his chin between her fingers so he wouldn’t squirm.

“You’re hurt, Rum, I need to –”

Her breath caught – a long, red gash ran down the side of his face, stretching from the crown of his head to his chin. Glass – green like the kind of beer bottles her father used to drown himself in – crinkled into his worn skin. This wasn’t caused by her bookshelf.

“What happened to your face?”

“N-n-nothing, ma’am,” he stuttered. “It’s just a scratch.”

Shame and fear rolled off him in waves, and Maribel had to dig her acrylics into her palms to keep from throwing something. How dare someone hurt her Rum!? How dare they mar his lovely face!? She stomped heavily forward, ready to find out who had done this, but he cowered in her path. Maribel raised her hand, worried that the movement had hurt him, but he turned his face away. 

“Rum, what’s wrong?” she asked, voice growling in the face of her rage. 

“Please,” he whimpered, standing still as a statue even though his hands shook. “Please, don’t.”

Maribel dropped her arms, angry and confused and helpless. It didn’t make for a good combination – it reminded her too much of the time she’d spent locked up in the asylum. Why was he so afraid of being touched? It was a livid wound to be sure, but did it truly hurt him that much? The thought of her Rum in pain had her blood boiling even more… and then it hit her: he wasn’t afraid of what had already been done – he was afraid that she would hurt him now for being weak.

She didn’t give him the chance to back away again – she lunged at him, grabbing him around his too-thin waist with one hand and caressing his scalp with the other. Words were near useless to her in moments like this, especially if she didn’t want to cry, so she hoped that her hug, violent as it was, would be enough.

“You… aren’t upset?” he asked, arms still frozen to his sides. Maribel felt like crying – how could someone go through such pain, such fear, and come out as sweet as her Rum? 

She wiped her unshed tears on his collar. “Of course I’m upset. I’m upset that someone thought they could hurt you and get away with it. I’m upset that you’re so afraid I’ll hurt you for not standing up for yourself. But I would never, ever, be upset with you. You’re my only friend. You’re my best friend.”

The words “and I love you” hung silent in the air after she’d finished. She just managed to keep from saying them out loud, but they still echoed loudly in her own ears. The sound left a ringing in her ears when Rum tentatively wrapped his arms around her, too. 

“Thank you,” he whispered. “No one… no one’s ever said anything like that to me before.”

Maribel didn’t sob, but it was a near miss. Instead, she pulled herself away and took his hand in hers, refusing to give him the chance to cower away again. 

“We’ll just have to remedy that, then, won’t we?”

He still looked bewildered for a moment, but a beautiful light lit up his eyes when he realized she wasn’t joking. He opened his mouth as if he’d like to say something, but nothing came out. Maribel took pity on him and nodded until he repeated the motion. His face stretched into a smile, but it was instantly broken by a painful grimace. She shook with rage – when she found out who’d done this, heads would roll.

“Come on, then. We need to get you cleaned up.”

“You don’t have to, m –”

She cut him off with a jerk on his hand, allowing him just enough time to get his bearings and his cane before wrenching him forward once again. Not for the first time, she was thankful that the stairs to her room were rather short – it meant her Rum wouldn’t have to scrabble up them with his limp.

“Go on and take a seat,” she said softly, trying to let him know with her tone that she didn’t mean to command him. She didn’t know what she’d do with herself if he feared her like everyone else did. 

Thankfully, he didn’t seem to notice that she was walking on eggshells since he was doing much the same. She didn’t understand why until she remembered that the only seat in her two-room apartment was her bed. 

She smiled at his sweet insecurity and pushed him against the pillows, pushing back the self-indulgent thoughts of having her way with him while he was helpless. Being falsely labeled a psychopath was one thing – honestly titled a rapist was entirely another. 

Maribel cleared her throat and left to get a wet towel. “I’ll be right back.”

She glanced over his shoulder on her way to the bathroom, feeling pathetic that she ached when not in his presence. It was silly of her, really. Loving him, being in love with him, was no excuse to be so pitiful. 

“Here we are. Now, just lean back and close your eyes.”

He complied with her wishes almost instantly, eyelids fluttering shut and head tilting in her direction. She couldn’t decide if that was sweet or unbearably sad. 

Wiping the blood and stained glass from his cheek was harder than she’d expected it to be. The skin had already started to heal over the mottled bits of trash, which made her think he’d been walking around like this for a good couple of days. He was probably hoping it would disappear before he could talk to her. It made her blood boil. Never before had she realized what kind of suffering he had to go through on a daily basis. The pain of knowing almost distracted her from his voice, but not quite.

“Thank you,” he mumbled. His eyes were still closed, his head still reclined towards her. She was surprised by that – she’d seen how his jaw clenched with pain when she’d scrubbed the gnarled scab from his cheek. Maybe he enjoyed having her touch him.

“It’s nothing,” she insisted, shaking the foolish notion from her head. “Anyone else would do the same.”

He shook his head “no”, opening his eyes for the first time in an hour (and it shocked her to realize, after looking at the clock, that it really had been an hour since she’d started). “Not anyone. Just you, Belle.”

She froze, the cloth lingering on his temple. “No one’s ever called me that before.”

“Do… would you like if I called you ‘Belle’?” he asked timidly. 

Maribel… no, Belle, didn’t even have to think about it. This was a name that only he could call her, like she was the only one who was allowed to call him Rum.

She started to shake her head, to let him know that it hadn’t upset her, but, when she looked back, his face was mere inches from hers. There was no memory in her brain of shifting closer, and the bed beneath her felt the same, so she knew it couldn’t have been her. But that was ridiculous – why would he have closed so much distance between them? Why would he…?

The question died at the look in his eyes. That wasn’t just gratitude, friendly admiration, trust. Something deeper rested in his pupils, something softer and more meaningful by far. Something that she’d seen reflected in her own face when she caught herself staring at her Rum.

She was the one who moved this time, she knew that. But she also knew – and the thought made her feel like she was flying – that he wanted it, too, when he closed his eyes and murmured “I’m dreaming”. 

Warm lips, soft but textured with age, pressed open beneath hers. Her tongue slipped between them without a thought, unable to keep herself from him a moment longer. He tasted like cigarettes and hot chocolate. She moaned. 

Lame or not, her Rum was capable of moving at lightning speed when he was lying down. That, or her brain moved at the speed of a snail when he was kissing her. Either way, when her sanity finally returned, she realized that she was now the one lying flat against the bed. Even more incredibly, though, he was still kissing her, and something long and hard was pressed against her thigh. She wriggled against it and bit the curse from his lips when it grew.

“I’m… I’m sorry, Belle,” he rumbled. The hoarseness of his voice made her tremble in delight. “I’ll just stop.”

“No, no, don’t!” She winced at the pleading tone of her voice, but she wouldn’t dare take the words back. “I want this! Please, Rum. I… I want you make love to me.”

He braced himself against her body, and she could tell that it was part of a desperate effort to not thrust into her.

“I can’t, Belle. I’ve wanted this, you, for so long,” he moaned, hands shaking along her body. “I’m going to fuck this up, I just know it.”

Belle almost laughed. “I doubt it. I’ve wanted you for forever, too. Stupid, really. What would a man want with a teenage girl?”

His tongue licked the last syllable from her tongue, sucking on her lip until the sound became a growl. “You aren’t a teenager now. And if you keep saying things like that, then I really am going to ruin this.”

She shook underneath him and stroked her tongue across the roof of his mouth. “Then what are you waiting for?”

The monumental control he had to possess snapped in half. She could see it in the way his nostrils flared, his chin set, his hands moved down her ribs. She was more than just a bit impressed when he peeled her blouse off rather than ripping it in half, too.

It took only the briefest of moments for them to have all their clothes removed, skin to skin and mouth to mouth the whole time. She expected him to touch now that she was finally bare, to reach out and caress something like any other man would do. Instead, he completely froze, arms still wrapped around her back as he buried his face in her throat. She lifted his head when she felt a suspicious wetness touch her skin.

Tears – of awe, this time, not pain and sorrow – dotted the corners of his eyes, and she happily kissed them away before more fell. She licked the bitter salt from her lips before pressing them to his, chaste but strong in her love. This was heaven – his arms, his love, his joy, his everything.

“Shh, shh,” she soothed against his mouth. “Everything’s fine. We’re together now. Nothing can hurt us.”

He tore himself away with a dry sob, burying his face in her breasts and nuzzling whatever skin he found along the way.

“God, you’re so beautiful. I’ve never seen anything so beautiful.”

Belle pushed her breasts into his mouth until he gagged, moving higher up her chest to spread the wetness of his tongue and tears.

“I’m so sorry,” he sobbed. “You want a man, not a baby. Please, forgive me. I told you I’d ruin everything.”

“You’ve ruined nothing,” she promised, cradling his head ever closer and brushing the hair along his nape. “This is so lovely, Rum. I’ve never been touched like I was worth something. I’ve never… I’ve never felt loved like this.”

“I do love you, so much.” 

Belle didn’t realize she’d gasped until his head jerked back from her chest. He was frozen like a deer in the headlights, but that was nothing compared to her own surprise.

“What did you say?”

“I… I said that I love you,” he repeated carefully. “Do… do you mind? That I love you?”

She considered lying, she truly did. But lying was the coward’s way out, the way of fear, the way that her Rum had been taught to operate. For the sake of them both, she’d have to be brave. She took a deep breath.

“Not at all. I love you, too.”

Chocolate ripples shimmered in his eyes, and then his mouth was glued to hers once more, plucking and touching and tasting and more of heaven than she thought she’d ever get to see. Then he dropped down past her neck, and she realized how wrong she’d been – paradise wasn’t in her grasp yet, but she was coming closer.

He spent hours (not imagined, but literal hours) tracing every inch of her body. He played with her breasts, cradling them in his palms, licking her nipples with sweet reverence before sucking them between his teeth. He caressed the sides of them while he nipped her neck, lips so soft and soothing against the scars she’d hidden with her makeup. He turned her over and massaged her back, all the way from the nape of her neck to the bottom curve of her arse. And all the while, he murmured words of devotion, praise over her love and kindness towards a poor fool like him.

Belle wasn’t sure how she managed it, maybe it was sheer willpower alone, but she held off her orgasm. As she’d told him, she’d never before had a lover devote so much time to making her feel good. It was more than endearing, it was magical. She wanted him to know just how wonderful it felt, just how much every second with him meant. And the only reward she could think of was to hold off her pleasure until she could take him with her. 

But the pleasure really was much too much for her to take. Another second even and she’d likely explode, no touch to her mound necessary. She pushed him back, then, easy enough to let him know she wasn’t displeased unable to totally contain her desperation.

Belle spread her legs, vulgarly caressing her soaked lips with one finger while he watched.

“Please,” she whimpered. “Please, I want you to be inside me.”

She didn’t think her Rum could move so fast – she barely blinked before the length of his cock was buried in her lips, not yet entering but enveloped by her sopping outer labia. They both cursed.

“I don’t have anything,” he groaned, rubbing the head against her wet slit. 

“Doesn’t matter, I’m on the pill.”

His eyes looked so wide with hurt, then shame that he’d been offended, that Belle couldn’t help herself from kissing him. 

“Medical issue,” she explained against his mouth. “I’ve not had anyone since we started talking.”

He blinked. “That’s been ten years.” 

“I know.” She wrapped her legs around his arse, allowing her toes to drop and knead his balls. “All the more reason for you to get inside me now. Please, Rum, I’ve wanted this for so long.”

The sound of his breath catching in his throat, the feel of his hardness on her lips, had her spinning out of control. It crystallized, hard and sharp and electrifying, when his head, engorged to an unnatural girth, nudged inside her. 

“On-only if you’re sure,” he whined, instinctively flicking his tip against her skin. “I’m – I’m far from the best you could have, love.”

Her blood boiled, but not because of anger. “Say that again.”

His eyes crinkled. “I’m far from the best you could have?” he repeated bemusedly.

Belle almost laughed. “Not that. You called me ‘love’. Do it again. Please?”

His free hand, shaking from nerves or pleasure or something else that she hadn’t even begun to understand, rose to trace hearts along her cheek. “Whatever you want, love.”

Her whole body bucked up, forcing his cock into her another centimeter. They both hissed in tandem.   
“Please, Rum,” she begged. “Sorry for being so… so demanding, I just want –”

Belle’s moth hung open with a silent moan, eyes wide and cheeks stained red with erotic joy. He’d bridged the gap; he was fully inside of her.

“Never apologize to me, love,” he told her, even as his eyes were crossed and sweat dripped off the ends of his hair. “Just want to please you.”

She tried to thank him, both for offering to take care of her pleasure and for filling her up so fully. The few times she’d done this in her teenage years were nothing like this. She felt like he was everywhere. The best she could manage was a single nod and the scrape of her nails down his arse. Thankfully, that seemed to be enough.

Rum pulled himself out of her, gasping when her tightness caused his head to pop on the way out. The noise might’ve been obscene with someone else, but this was her Rum, and nothing could have been lovelier.

“Oh, fuck,” he whined deeply, lacing his fingers around her shoulders as he slid in deep. “Oh, oh you’re so wet, love. My darling Belle…” 

She tossed her head back, not even caring when it cracked against her headboard. The feeling of his cock pulling out and plunging back, slow and sweet and so, so very thick inside her body, had blurred every other sensation.

“Keep… keep talking,” she pleaded, grabbing his arse to hike him further up her body. His balls slapped against her wet lips and they both groaned. 

“Never gonna forget this,” he moaned, taking her knee and curling it higher up his hap. Her hands stayed where they were, and she gasped every time her wrist brushed her ankle. ”So beautiful, so fucking sweet. And you love me. How could you love me?”

“Because you’re perfect. Please, Rum, I’m close!”

He groaned a stream of curses into her sweaty skin and pushed, tighter and harder, into her pussy. The base of his cock brushed against her clit with every stroke, and she understood what it meant to see stars.

She squeezed against him, again and again and again until she thought she might pass out from the pleasure. Her flesh had become so taut that he couldn’t budge at all, and he all but growled into her ear that she was so fucking tight he could feel it to his balls. His voice had her coming all over again, the sensation never stopping but building one on top of another until her voice was hoarse from screaming. And all the while, he held her close, murmuring words of sweet encouragement until her lax muscles could no longer hold her up. 

Rum turned her onto her side and scooted in behind her, murmuring the words “I love you, Belle” into his sleep. It was the first time that she’d ever known what true happiness was. 

“I love you too, Rum,” she repeated as sleep overtook her, too. ”Always.”


End file.
